Part 2: The Acacia

Chapter 11: Snow

The snow around him glowed so brilliantly white that it nearly hurt his eyes. Snow covered hills fringed the horizon in the twilight air. Bucky Barnes groaned. He hated this place-this isolated, abandoned corner of Siberia. Nothing good ever came of being here.

Icy wind swept swirls of snow past his face as he began to crunch footprints through the snow towards someplace he didn't know. At least he was alone. He noted no weapons on him, no sign of a recently completed mission, and no friend or foe besides him.

He nearly stumbled as his boot caught on a metal trunk. He looked around again and could see no signs of human inhabitation. Confused at the presence of the trunk, he bent and fumbled with the clasp until it flung open. Inside, he found a stack of photos.

He picked up a handful and flipped through them. Men, women, children. Some were black and white, others faded sepia, and others brightly colored and freshly printed. He could almost watch time flowing as he flipped between decades and lifetimes. At first, he did not recognize any of the faces until he landed on one he knew. He had seen those eyes before, a lifetime ago it seemed. He knew those brown eyes…

Stark. Howard Stark. The name suddenly rang into his mind, as clear as a cowbell. Images of a busy war room, men in khaki, and maps filled his mind.

Bucky's mind returned to the photograph when he realized it was melting. As he held the black and white head shot in his hand, it melted into a trickle of red that dripped down his hands and marred the glaring white purity of the snow with shouting dots of crimson. With horror, he realized the photo had turned into blood. He threw it down into the trunk.

To his horror, the rest of the photographs in his hands also began to melt. The crimson river trickled from his hands, overflowing into the stacked photographs in the old trunk, which also began to melt. The red, bubbling river of scarlet blood seeped towards the rusted, metal fringes of the trunk and over the edges, trickling down the faded green paint.

Bucky's heart pounded as he ran to the trunk and tried to close it, but there was no way to keep the liquid inside. The first drops that reached the snow merely faded into a delicate pink, but soon, the snow couldn't contain it either. It gushed out like a fountain. He tried to build a snowbank around it to contain it, but it simply tore a pathway through it. Soon, the entire untouched valley would be scarred and he could not stop it. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion and he could not stop the flow.

Maybe if I drink it, it will stop, he thought to himself. This, too, was to no avail. Blood painted his hands, his boots, his jacket, his forehead. He tried to wash his hands off with some of the clean snow but his hands remained stained.

In anger and frustration, he kicked the metal trunk and pain shot up his leg. He fell to the cold ground, placed his head into his soiled hands, and wept.

"I can't do it," he shouted, unsure to whom. "I can't stop the blood. Please, make it stop!"

Bucky woke with a start.

There are some deaths that happen in an instant and some that happen over years, decades, and generations. Bucky had the unsettled feeling he had been dead, at least in part, for a long, long time. He needed to get out, get moving. He left his little flat to find some breakfast, the crisp Romanian morning air bringing at least a nominal sense of normalcy to his weary thoughts.

Then he saw the morning paper.

"Winter Soldier Strikes Again."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Mama…." T'Challa said as his mother's soft eyes and brown skin filled his handheld screen. He wished he could be there in person to lend her strength and to borrow from hers. Tears glistened in little rivulets down his cheeks, pooling freely on his shoulder. "Baba, he…I tried to get to him in time…I failed him. Mama, I was not fast enough. Pole sana, Mama. I am so sorry. Nisamehe."

"T'Challa, what are you saying? What has happened?" the queen's voice rose in panic as she neared the last syllable. Shuri and Bella dropped their computer screens and looked at both Ramonda's face and T'Challa's projected image in concern.

"Baba…there was a bomb. It exploded just as Baba took to the podium to speak."

"T'Challa, Baba anaenda wapi? Where is your father? Is everyone alright?" Ramonda said, covering her forehead with her hand and collapsing wearily in the nearest chair she could pull to herself.

"No. Baba, he has left us to be gathered to our ancestors."

T'Challa heard a swift intake of breath. The eerie silence that seemed to grip both was shattered by a loud wail.

"No! Sikweli! Bwana wangu! Oh, my husband!" the queen mother said as her normally composed features descended into sobs and bathed her mahogany cheeks in tears.

Shuri ran to her mother and laid her head in her lap and began to weep. Bella lowered her head with her own tearless sobs as she mourned the second loss of a father she had gained too late and lost too soon.

"Pole, Mama. Poleni sana, dada zangu. I am so sorry, my family. I have failed you. I have failed Wakanda. But I will revenge our father's honor. We know who has planted the bomb and this Winter Soldier, he will pay in blood."

"T'Challa, no. Come home to us. We do not need to mourn two men instead of one. We need you here," Ramonda said, stretching out her fingers towards his image as if that action would be enough to coax him to return to her, where she most longed him to be.

"Mama, I will come after I finish my work," he said, halting the transmission and leaving the palace room in stunned silence punctuated with sobs.

"Tosha. He does not only belong to us," the queen mother said. She rose and disentangled herself from her weeping daughters. She recomposed her face, allowing the dignity of her position to fall across her grief like a curtain announcing the end of a play. "We must tell the kingdom and invite the people to mourn with us. Our burden will be lighter with many to share it."

T'Challa clothed himself in his anger, allowing the burning rage to mask his grief and bury it deep within his chest. He could act. He could fix this if only he could spill the blood of the guilty. He put on his Panther Habit and set off running, his thoughts focused only forward, far away from the blood-stained images of his past.

oooooooooooooo

T'Challa was not sad to leave Colonel Zemo in chains next to the writhing, cursing figure of Tony Stark. The one they called Iron Man, T'Challa noted, acted from impulse rather than clear thought, just as T'Challa was ashamed to see he also had done. But, T'Challa was confident that when the anger and thirst for revenge cleared, Iron Man would see that Zemo was properly punished for his crimes. So, T'Challa quietly left both wrestling with their inner demons on the frigid concrete floor of the Siberian Hydra facility and motioned for the remaining two battered compatriots to follow him.

Thus, T'Challa, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes sat in the Wakandan aircraft as cloud and snow flurries wisped past the windows in time with the roaring motors of the engine. They stretched out sore, battered bodies and bandaged cuts, sores, and bruises.

"I wanted to apologize," T'Challa nearly whispered to Bucky, as he rummaged through storage drawers for bandages. "I nearly killed you in revenge for something you did not do."

"Well, Stark's kid just tried to kill me in revenge for something I did do. I deserve it," Bucky responded, eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"No. Not from me. I wanted an outlet for my anger and grief, even if it meant I closed my eyes to justice and that is not the way a true king should rule. I brought shame to myself, my people, and the memory of my father."

"You were not so far off," Bucky responded, leaning against the cold metal wall of the jet as he tried to cover the loose wires and glaring absence of an arm with a blanket. "I mean, in a sense, it is my fault your father died. That nut case killed all those people in order to frame me and use me to make you all kill each other. That still means I'm the root of it.

"You asked me before at the airport why I ran. I ran because I am guilty, even if I didn't pull the trigger this time. It's been my hand on the trigger enough times to know that someone is always gonna come for me. Hell, I can't even hold a grudge against anyone who tries to take me out."

"You are a casualty of war just as much as any of those who have died," Steve interjected. "You didn't choose to become what you are. You couldn't choose your missions or refuse what they told you to do. You couldn't even recognize the people you were sent to kill."

"I can recognize them afterwards and they will haunt me for the rest of my life. Just because I didn't want to kill them doesn't make them any less dead," Bucky responded.

All three men descended into a rich, eloquent silence, each lost in his own intrusive thoughts and heavy griefs.

"Where will you go from here?" T'Challa asked.

"Technically, we are both criminals now," Steve said with a false cheerfulness. "I suppose we had better lay low for awhile."

"I thought I was safe in Romania," Bucky said. "It turns out I am safe nowhere as long as the Hydra programming remains in my head. Anytime, anywhere, someone can turn up with a series of words that turns me into a mindless tool. I don't know where to go."

"Ah. Now, here is where I can help and restore honor to my father's name," T'Challa said. "I would like to personally invite you to Wakanda. You may accept our amnesty and we can keep you safe for as long as you wish to remain. Sergeant Barnes, our medical staff and researchers can begin work on discovering if it is possible to cure you."

Bucky's green eyes left the floor and locked with T'Challa's black eyes. "You would welcome me into your home after everything you know about me?"

"I know that what you have done is not who you are. So, yes."

Bucky nodded, too overcome with sudden emotion to reply.

"Captain?"

"I will come along while Bucky gets settled, but I have some unfinished business to attend to after. But, I'll be most appreciative of your hospitality till then."

"You will be very welcome for as long as you wish to remain."

ooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a long flight. They took turns sleeping, each exhausted from the emotional and physical drain. The quiet hum of the engines lulled and vibrated through the cockpit where Steve and Bucky both lay on cots, eyes fixed on the flashing lights above them.

"What happened?" Steve asked, interrupting the lull. "That last time I saw you, you tried to kill me and then saved my life."

"Yeah."

"How did you remember?" Steve asked.

"I went to the Smithsonian," Bucky said with a grin, leaning his head on his hands.

"I thought you were making that up as a cover story."

"No, really, I did. There was something deep inside that just said I knew you. I couldn't figure out how. After I pulled you from the river, I hid. I didn't want to go back to what I was. Hell, I never wanted to be what I was but I always had too tight a leash on to go free. This time, I saw my leash was cut, however temporarily, and I ran for it.

"Then, I saw some news report talking about Captain America and I asked a waitress and she said I could learn more from the exhibit at the museum. I went. Man, was that creepy! I walk in and see an entire wall with my picture on it! There's a name and a story and a birthdate and death date of a person that looked exactly like me. I just stood and stared for the longest time and the longer I stared, the more things started coming to me.

"I think I watched Peggy's interview twenty times as I tried to wrap my brain around it all. I started writing down memories in a notebook whenever they sprung up. It's taken time, and there are some memories I'd rather not keep, but I seem to be putting the pieces back together."

"I did that too," Steve said. "I mean the whole museum thing. It was creepy-finding myself in a museum, date of death and all."

"Right? It looks like they'd updated your date of death now, I mean, it's not there anymore. But, I think mine should stay. I really did die when I fell off that train. I never really was me again. I was a body, an empty shell, but not Bucky, you know? The Bucky I was wouldn't have done the things I did, or so I tell myself. But that Bucky died and was replaced with a monster. Anytime I started to show sparks of myself, my old self, they immediately had my memory wiped clean. If I got too unruly, they simply put me to sleep on ice for another decade or two until they woke me to destabilize some unfortunate country or another."

"Bucky, when you fell off that train and I couldn't hold onto you, couldn't save you…that was the worst moment of my entire life," Steve said, choking slightly on the words as he drew closer to where his friend sat. "I couldn't sleep for weeks. I still have nightmares of that moment, reliving it over and over and over again, wishing I could go back and change it. I've always wanted to say it so I'm glad I've got the chance now, I'm sorry I failed you. You rescued me so many times and when it was my turn, I failed."

"You did the best you can, I mean, you aren't perfect."

"I feel like I need to be."

"Nah. Maybe Captain America needs to be, but Steve Rogers…the Steve Rogers I know who couldn't make toast without burning it and kept leaving socks on the floor…sorry, man, no way to convince me that you've got it all together," Bucky said with a laugh. "I never blamed you. It was a moving train and gravity does what it does and with the war and all, it's a wonder I didn't turn up dead a dozen times before that. It's part of the game, you know? Don't blame yourself for what isn't your fault."

Steve clapped Bucky on his good shoulder and smiled.

"I'm just glad I get the chance to try again."

"What happened to you afterwards? I mean, after the whole getting lost in the Arctic thing," Bucky asked.

"Yeah. I spent a good 70 years or so asleep in the ice till some scientists found my plane and dug me up. I woke up in 2015 in New York. It was rather a rude awakening. I've been trying to catch up ever since."

"I guess we both spent a lotta years asleep."

"And cold," Steve replied.

"Yeah. And cold. And out of it. So, did you and Peggy ever…"

"We had a date scheduled for the week after I crashed."

"Your first real date and you stood her up?"

"I, uh, guess I never got better at knowing what to do with dames. I suppose the problem wasn't with my height after all," Steve said with a slight wink and sad smile. "I saw her, you know, before she died. She remembered me. She married, had kids, saved the world a few times."

"That sounds about right. Who was the broad you were getting fresh with under the bridge?"

Steve laughed and a rosy blushed creeped across his ears. "Peggy's grandniece."

"No kidding. That's, uh, kinda, uh…"

"I know," Steve said, dropping his eyes and twiddling with the wrapper of his granola bar.

"It looked like you knew what you were doing there…the 70 years on ice taught you a few tricks."

Steve only blushed deeper. Bucky recognized Steve's mood and dropped the subject. He'd always known when to pry and when to sit in quiet.

"Why'd you pretend not to know me, back when I found you in Romania?" Steve asked.

"Which part of me trying to kill you do you not remember?" Bucky responded with a chilly sarcasm. "Man, when I finally started getting my memories back, I was ashamed-of what I'd become, my past, of what I'd tried to do to you. I didn't want you to know me or see me like that. I don't deserve to be alive, let alone have you give up everything for me. I'm just not worth it."

"Yes you are."

Bucky shrugged and relapsed into silence. Steve and Bucky turned to the small windows and gasped out loud as the descending aircraft headed straight towards the dense forest. The trees suddenly vaporized and they found themselves looking down onto the glittering domes and towering skyscrapers of Birnin Zana.

"Now that's something you don't see every day," Bucky said.

"Welcome to Wakanda," T'Challa replied.

ooooooooooooooooo

A/N:

I'm assuming the events of Captain America: Civil War are known to you. That movie is the context behind this chapter and the last but I didn't really want to get into a play-by-play for the whole movie. Just know, the events in the movie just happened and now we are moving on from there. I'm not going to stick to much of the plot from Black Panther or other future movies (i.e. Infinity War, End Game, etc.) but you can assume past events happened as depicted in movies.

Pole sana, Mama. Nisamehe: Very sorry, mama, forgive me.

anaenda wapi: he is where?

Sikweli! Bwana wangu: It's not true! My husband!

Pole, Mama. Poleni sana, dada zangu: sorry mama. Very sorry, my sisters.

Tosha: enough